A Forgotten Paradox
by AnnikaTwist
Summary: All right, Harry's kind of little and he and... wait, you know what? Just read it, because you'll love it. Believe me. I promise.


A Forgotten Paradox 

A Forgotten Paradox   
Disclaimer: These characters are in no way mine, they belong instead to the very talented J.K. Rowling. 

Satan, you know where I lie Gently I go into that good night All our lives get complicated Search for pleasures overrated Never armed our souls For what the future would hold When we were innocent Angels, lend me your might Forfeit all my lives to get just one right All those colors long since faded All our smiles all confiscated Never were we told We'd be bought and sold When we were innocent This prayer is for me tonight This far down that line and still ain't got it right And while confessions not yet stated Our next sin is contemplated Never did we know What the future would hold Or that we'd be bought and sold We were innocent - Fuel, Innocent *~*~*~*~*~* A shadow. It was very slight and pressed quite close to the wall, but there it was all the same and Harry didn't like it. A shadow meant that someone else was here, and Harry didn't like that. This was *his* place, and nobody else was allowed. Harry needed it especially today, because today had been awful. During lunch hour, Harry's cousin and his friends thought it might be fun to tie Harry to a tree. They always did horrible things like that. Harry didn't know why. He'd given up trying to figure out why, that wasn't important anymore. Now Harry would just direct all his thoughts on how to avoid these situations. Sometimes, he managed to win; he was small and quick, and often if he just darted between their legs and ran, he could get away. But today he hadn't been so lucky. He'd been sitting in the sandbox alone, making a sort of lumpy turreted castle out of the sand. He'd been pretending that this was his castle, and he imagined that somewhere it was waiting for him, and when he went there he could leave behind the horrible gray school and his nasty family. But right around this point, Dudley and his followers had grown tired of throwing rocks at the first years, and decided to play 'catch Harry.' Harry had been staring dreamily at his castle, when suddenly a large foot had appeared out of nowhere and ground the sandy towers to dust. With a cry of indignation Harry had clambered to his feet only to be met with Dudley's menacing sneer. He was suddenly seized roughly about the arms and dragged backwards. Harry began to kick wildly but this only made Dudley punch him fiercely in the stomach, Harry swayed but wouldn't back down and he lashed out his foot again and this time met with something soft. The grip around his arms loosened and Harry writhed out of the iron grasp and began to crawl away. But a stork like boy named Jack sprinted after Harry. He had terribly long legs that looked awfully precarious and gangly, but when he set them to use he used them well. He was one of the ones Harry feared most, because he was the only one who could catch Harry when he ran, and as Harry's breathing was labored due to his throbbing stomach, Jack quickly gained on Harry and snatched Harry's arm. He dug his long, bony fingers into Harry's flesh, and Harry let out a yelp of pain, continuing to struggle desperately. With a tightlipped grin Jack hit him hard across the face; Harry crumpled and fell. Jack dragged his prize to Dudley beaming, they especially liked it when Harry put up a fight. It made them feel more triumphant in their victory; their prize much more worthy after they'd had a good battle with it. Harry didn't even bother to shout to the other children, he knew they would just ignore him stonily, and turn their gazes away, seemingly blind as Harry was caught up in Dudley's horrible games. Harry let himself go limp and tried to act as a dead weight as they hauled him to a tree on the farthest, darkest side of the school yard. Dudley was quite a mastermind of torture for such a young and stupid boy, for as they bound Harry to the tree they didn't do it the usual way with Harry's back to the tree and his hands behind him, they made it so Harry's face was ground into the bark, unable to see or speak. Harry had no idea where they found rope but they had it none the less, and they wound it tightly around and around the tree, then even more tightly around Harry's wrists. Then they laughed at him and danced around whooping and shouting until the bell rang and they sprinted off, promising Harry they'd come back tomorrow with a few biscuits if Harry was good. With a sudden horrible surge of panic, Harry realized that today was Friday and if nobody found him here by this evening, he might have to stay there all weekend. With a cry of despair, Harry began to struggle against the binds, his wrists writhed and twisted against the stinging cords, but to no avail. The rope bit into his skin and the more he squirmed about, the more the bark of the tree began to dig into his flesh. Harry realized with a horrible sinking feeling that this tree was on the farthest side of the grounds from the school, not only would nobody see him from the window, he wasn't even on the side of the tree facing the school. His heart thundering against his ribcage in panic, he twisted futiley, his fingers straining to reach the thick knots about his wrist. But after a while, his fingers grew cramped and weak, and his cheek was beginning to swell with blood, as the bark grated relentlessly against his flesh. With an enormous sigh of defeat, he fell languidly against the knotted bark. His mind began to play horrible tricks on him, and he began to wonder if a person could stay alive, tied to a tree for three days. Maybe Dudley and the rest *would* bring biscuits tomorrow, and maybe Harry could beg for mercy and promise to do anything they pleased, but then Harry felt his insides churn with disgust; he couldn't possibly give them the satisfaction, that was exactly what they wanted. Harry still had his pride, and with a glimmer of something that might have resembled hope, Harry straightened his shoulders, and tried feebly to raise his small chin. But despite his brave attempts, Harry suddenly realized that darkness would come all too quickly, and when it did, shadows would leer at him menacingly and it would be cold and silent and horrible. After all, he only was six and a half years old, and as Harry's mind began to grow dark and frightened, the ember of hope slowly flickered to darkness, and a solitary tear coursed down Harry's bloodied cheek. He felt the tears rise up inside of him, and begin to leak out, his chest began to heave, and his cheeks were quickly steeped in salty pools. But it hurt too much to cry, his ribs were all ready ground into the gnarled bark and it became difficult to breathe. The tears burned the lacerations on his cheek, and the salt stung, leaving a searing trail of singing, white hot fire. With a cry of despair, Harry sagged defeatedly in the grasping ropes. All hope had left him and Harry began to wonder what people would say when they found him, his lifeless body still clinging dismally to the tree. Aunt Petunia would probably laugh, saying Harry's only friend in the world was that tree, it was the only thing that would stand having him that close, because no one on this earth liked Harry Potter, no one could have cared if he lived or died and the world would rejoice when the stain of Harry's existence had been wiped from humanity. Harry could hear her shrill voice ringing in his ears and he wanted to shut it out, to cover his ears but he couldn't. He couldn't lift his hands, he couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe, and suddenly he was falling, falling, falling...Wham! Something sharp collided with Harry's head, and he sat up suddenly, wait...sat up? Harry's eyes suddenly slid back into focus and Harry saw that he was sitting on the ground the ropes in a coil around him. What on earth had happened? Harry glanced at his wrists, deep red lines were still evident, branded into his flesh and when his hand darted up to his cheek he winced, as it still stung and was wet with blood. Harry looked around him dizzily, how in the world had he gotten free? It was as if the ropes had suddenly just loosened, it was the strangest thing that had ever happened to him, no wait. There had been the time Aunt Petunia had cut off all his hair and it had all grown back the next morning, and then there had been the time that horrible sweater had suddenly shrank. Harry shook his head, feeling dazed and rose shakily to his feet. Now that he thought about it, strange things *always* happened to him. No matter, this revelation was too big, too foreign to take affect on Harry's small mind, and all he knew right now was that he had to get away from this dreadful school, this dismal heap of bricks where the very walls reeked of horrible memories, and Harry shuddered with dread at the thought of facing anyone who resided in that building. And even though Harry had been attending the school for barely a year, he all ready hated it, and was all ready so overwhelmed with revulsion for the place that he'd managed to find a sort of sanctuary to escape to. If you clambered over the high chained fence on the edge of the school yard, you would find yourself on a street that was just a small ways from the center of town. The first day Harry had run away, had been the day his teacher Ms. Raque had told him that he would never grasp elementary mathematics and he would drag through life as a useless nothing, then be forced to wander the streets when he was older, begging with a tin cup. At this, Harry had become horribly frightened and begun to cry, she'd then seized his arm and told him in a horrible voice that boys didn't cry, especially the small boys in her first year class. It was forbidden and she'd told him to march himself down to the restroom and fix himself up at once. Harry had done exactly that, except for the part about going to the restroom. He'd marched himself out of the class, and then taken a sharp right and proceeded right out the doors, down the steps and broken into a run until he'd reached the chained fence. It had risen up before him, like the prison gates of some horrible camp, but he'd swallowed back his fear and boldly climbed right up the fence and over the top, finding himself on the slightly empty streets of the other side. Harry remembered that day with great joy, recalling the way an enormous burden had slid off his shoulders, and the sun had suddenly burst from behind a cloud, bathing the world in a jubilant radiance. Harry remembered fondly, the wind drifting through his hair, and the breeze seeming to whisper words of freedom. The second time he'd escaped, the headmaster Mr. Wheatley had caught him on his way down the steps, and had gripped Harry by the ear and led him directly to his office, where he'd sat Harry down and had given him a furious talking to on the ethics of small children, and how in "the olden days" small boys had been beaten with a wooden cane. Harry had cowered meekly in the enormous leather armchair and watched with amazement as flecks of spit rocked from the man's lips. The whole experience was all rather terrifying, due to the fact Harry had been forced to stay after school for three hours and write out sentences with Ms. Raque. He'd then been escorted home by a seething Vernon Dursley. Harry remembered him turning a fascinating shade of purple, and going from red to blue to green faster than a stoplight at rush hour. When they'd arrived home, Harry had been given another heated lecture about Dursley family pride and told that not only had he disgraced the Dursley name, but that he was a stain on the existence of mankind. After this Harry had been locked in the cupboard for three days, the longest ever in all his six years, and remembered stumbling out afterwards in a sort of daze, but with his rebellious spirit freshly renewed. When he returned to school, Harry discovered they now locked all the doors to the outside, making it seemingly impossible for him to escape. This however, did not dampen Harry's determination and he quickly discovered that if you removed the grate in the first floor bathroom and stood on tiptoe upon the toilet seat, you could worm your way through the opening and lower yourself onto the enormous dumpsters beneath the window. Then, if you were careful enough, you could hop down and run to the chained fence and freedom. You could escape as often as you wanted to, as long as you were careful. On that fateful day, of the attempted second escape, along with Harry's harrowing capture and punishment, he'd been instilled with a new sense of caution, a wariness that would aid him greatly in the many escapes to come. And right now, Harry needed it desperately. So, he'd made his way into the chaotic bustle at the center of town. He found, that whenever he stood still, if he stood quite close to a woman's side, the constables would overlook him, and so would the woman as well, making an all around excellent situation for Harry. Sometimes Harry would wander into shops and look around with large eager eyes, but mainly Harry would go to one place. In the very back of an old used bookstore was a narrow, somewhat cramped alleyway that it shared with the back of the bakery. If you slipped into the used bookstore and made your way stealthily to the very back of the shop, you would find your way to the alley. And due to the fact that the old man who owned the book store usually slumbered at the front desk, it was easy to melt into the musty towers of ancient volumes and make your way to the back of the store. Harry would usually curl up on a pile of empty four sacs and daydream. Or pretend to talk to his dead parents, imagining they could look down on him from the tiny crack of blue sky that hovered way overhead. Harry would let is mind wander idly for hours, forgetting about his horrible school and family, and let his mind drift errantly, making up stories or pretending he was somebody else. And now, here he was today, desperately needing time to forget everything, but today of course, of all days, something was wrong with Harry's place. Someone else was sitting on a heap of flour sacs, someone who Harry couldn't quite make out. They were just a smudge of darkness against the mosaic of worn bricks. For a moment, Harry thought of fleeing, but then his curiosity gripped him and he realized that if he went away now, he'd never be able to come back without the fear of this stranger returning. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward. "Hullo." There was a slight pause, then the shadow spoke, "hullo." Harry took another step forward, feeling quite brave. "Who are you?" This time the shadow didn't even pause, "Who are *you*?" "Me?" Harry said, "My name's Harry. And this is my spot, but you can stay here if you'd like." The shadow grew somewhat offensive, "I would stay here if I like anyway, I don't need you to let me." Harry shrugged. He could tell from his voice that he was a boy about Harry's age, and then feeling as bold as ever, Harry went on. "Won't you come out of the shadows so I can see you?" The shadow froze, "I suppose, but only because I want to see you as well." Harry watched with bated breath as the boy slid from out of the heavy shadows and into the slender beam of sunlight that slipped in between the buildings overhead. This boy was quite small, about the same age as Harry, and very thin as well. He had quite a bit of very blonde hair, that was rather long and fell into his eyes. His features were very delicate, almost elfin, with high cheekbones and a haughty chin. The boy's skin was very tanned and a pair of large blue eyes blinked at Harry curiously from beneath the tumbling platinum tangles. The one odd thing Harry noticed about the boy were his clothes. He wore long black, draping things, sort of like an old fashioned cloak, that looked very heavy. The material was rich and thick and the sleeves and the hem were trimmed with a narrow satin ribbon painted silver. The boy narrowed his eyes at Harry then opened his mouth the same time Harry did, they both blurted out. "What's wrong with your clothes?" Harry laughed, and smiled at the boy, feeling his lips do something they hadn't done in a while. The boy looked at Harry, his scrutinizing gaze flickering over Harry's strange outfit. And then, as if he'd come to some sort of conclusion he smiled too, only slightly, but it was a smile none the less. The smile quickly evaporated from his lips as he glanced again at Harry's face. "What happened to you?" Harry suddenly remembered his cut up cheek and realized his shirt was smudged with dirt. His leg had an awful bruise beginning to appear where Dudley had kicked him earlier, and both his socks had drooped down round his ankles. The welts around his wrist were beginning to throb, and he suddenly remembered the sting in his cheek. Harry dabbed at it gingerly with his sleeve, and tried to sound nonchalant. "I, uh...fell down." The other boy crossed his arms across his chest, and looked at him skeptically. "Well...I, uh," he sighed, realizing he couldn't escape the perceptive stare. "All right, I didn't fall down. It's just these kids at school and my cousin..." Harry sat down heavily on a pile of flour sacs. The boy sat down next to him, and gazed at Harry with his piercing stare. "Did they do that to you?" Harry nodded wearily, and the boy continued to stare. "Is that why you come here?" Harry looked up at him, taking him in once more, the fair hair and the dark skin. He suddenly noticed the boy's cheeks were smeared with dirt and a faint purple bruise lined his jaw. Harry nodded, "I always come here to get away from...everything." The boy nodded solemnly, in perfect understanding. They sat in silence for several moments, and then the boy spoke again, but this time his voice was soft and he looked at the floor instead of at Harry. "Do you have any friends?" Harry looked up, startled. The boy's eyes were pained and far away. Slowly, Harry shook his head, and was surprised at the slight wobble in his voice as he spoke, "Nobody likes me." The boy looked at Harry curiously, "Not even your parents?" Harry paused and chewed on his cheek, thinking, "I don't know. I haven't got any." The boy looked at Harry, puzzled. Then there was a spark of understanding and the boy looked at Harry in awe, "You mean they're dead?" Harry nodded. "I suppose that's better than my parents." His voice grew soft once more, and his eyes shone suddenly with tears, "My parents hate me." Harry stared at him, unsure what to say. Harry's eyes suddenly grew wide with fear, and he spoke aloud, more to himself than to the boy. "I suppose my aunt and uncle hate," he swallowed hard, "I suppose they hate me too." Harry had never really thought of them as *hating* him, but he realized with a sudden new and horrible understanding that this was true. He suddenly wondered why it had never donned on him before, and he suddenly felt completely and utterly alone. He glanced over at the boy, and was surprised to see his face hardened with anger, his lips were twisted into a frown and his jaw was set. He seemed not to have heard what Harry had just said. "But I hate them too." The boy drew his knees up to his chest, and wound his arms tightly around his knees, "I'm glad I ran away." Harry looked at him with a new sort of respect and his eyes widened, "You ran away from home?" The boy nodded grimly, "I ran away from my parents today when we were out." Harry looked at him, confused. "You weren't in school?" The boy shot him a wary look. "What'd you mean? School doesn't start till I turn eleven." Harry looked shocked, "It doesn't?" The boy suddenly narrowed his eyes at Harry and began to draw away, "You're not a muggle are you? My father told me muggles start school when they're too young to understand anything." "What's a muggle?" The boy eyed him now skeptically, with growing wariness. "You are aren't you?" The boy's lips twisted in concentration and his blue eyes narrowed to two dark slits as he became lost deep in thought. Then once more, he turned to the bewildered Harry, a new sense of determination evident in his eyes. "I don't care if you are a muggle, I like you anyway and my father hates muggles, so it's all the better if I like you more." Harry shrugged, not really understanding what the boy was talking about. He decided to ignore this bit in the conversation. "Why did you run away?" The boy's scowl deepened and it took him a while before he spoke. "We were out shopping and we were walking down a street and I saw a man sitting on the corner. He was poor, I could tell because his clothes were all raggedy and he had an old hat next to him with coins in it. My father had just given me my pocket money and I wanted to give it to the man." Harry waited patiently while the boy took a dramatic pause, and marveled at the goodness in giving one's pocket money to a poor man. Harry decided it would be a good idea, and if he ever got pocket money like Dudley did, he would give it to the first man wearing raggedy clothes he saw. The boy drew a deep breath and continued on steelily, "So I was about to give the man my money when my father got very upset, and he sort of ran up and grabbed me and dragged me away. Then he got very angry and he yelled at me in front of everyone and told me never to do something stupid like that again. And he said," the boy's voice caught, "he said all sorts of horrible things about the man that I knew weren't true. I *hate* him." A tear caught on the boy's eyelash and glittered faintly as the boy's face grew dark with contempt. He drew his arms so tight around his legs that his knuckles were white, and he rested his chin on his knees. "Then he hit me. Hard." The boy's voice grew tight, "And it hurt. And when I cried, he said... he said," he drew a great broken breath and shuddered horribly, "he said that boys didn't cry and hit me again. Then I got mad and I kicked him as hard as I could and then I ran." A ghost of a smile flickered across the boy's lips as he stared hard at the opposite wall, remembering something. "He was so mad when I ran away, and I'm glad. I ran as hard as I could forever. And somehow, I came here." Harry gazed at him solemnly for several moments, letting the effects of the story sink in. He pointed to the boys cheek. "Is that where...?" The boy placed a tentative finger on his jaw and winced, then nodded hard, biting his lip to keep the sudden pool of tears from overflowing. He rubbed a dirty hand across his eyes and sniffed. "I hate him." Harry nodded, then looked at the boy gravely and spoke with complete truth. "I wish I was brave enough to kick my Uncle Vernon when he does horrible things to me." The boy looked up at Harry and their eyes locked. They regarded one another sincerely, a sort of deep mutual understanding shining in their eyes. Then at the same time, both their faces split into smiles, real genuine smiles, the first time in a long time that either of them had done so. Harry liked the way the boy's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, and the boy's mop of sandy blonde hair. Harry scooted close to him so that their arms touched. The boy was warm and Harry suddenly felt very sleepy as a beam of sunlight washed them with golden light. The boy leaned against the wall and yawned. Harry drew up his legs beneath him and leaned against the wall as well. Harry watched as the boy's eyes began to droop, fair hair sliding into his eyes as his head began to sag. Harry's eyes were almost closed when he felt the boy's head dip onto his shoulder. Feeling incredibly warm and sleepy, Harry rested his cheek against the boy's golden head. The sun had steeped his hair in it's golden kiss and as Harry pressed his cheek against the boy's fair head it was deliciously warm. Harry was about to slip into a world of dreams when suddenly, a thought surfaced in his mind. Eyes still closed, Harry murmured into the boy's hair. "You never told me your name..." Harry felt the boy stir slightly, as he nestled closer to Harry's shoulder. When he spoke Harry felt hot plumes of air soak into his sleeve, and he was almost asleep when he caught the name. "Draco. Draco Malfoy." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* All right so there it is, hope you liked it and all that, and don't worry there will be more. In fact I think I've got the whole thing planned out. Sorry about the ramblingness, hehe I kind of go into like a double flashback, but this was just soo fun to write that I kind of got carried away I guess. Anyways, the next part will be more to the point, no more double flashbacks or whatever, and it'll be good and you'll like it. I hope. And oh yeah, I've never done the song lyric thing, but I stumbled across this song and it was just sooo like the story, it was creepy (it'll make more sense later). And it looks kind of cheesy in print, but the actual song is amazing so... Yeah, and for any of you who have read my other stuff, I'm not neglecting it really! It's just tests aren't quite over *gag* (I finish Wednesday) and believe me I've got like mountains of ideas, in fact I'm so full of ideas for all of them and more ones, that I may just burst. But don't expect too much soon cause me and my sister are going to Ireland to visit our cousins (yay!! I'm beyond excited) until the 15th, and there aren't any computers in our flat in Dublin, so until then I won't post much, plus I've been busy watching Moulin Rouge every chance I get, love it, anyway I guess that's all I have to say for now. All right, cya later and don't forget to review!! Remember, longgggggggger the better :)~ annika 


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